


Drowning Is Not For Wimps

by Zayrastriel



Series: The Drowning 'verse [12]
Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/F, F/M, Genocide, Zombie Apocalypse, major angst, world AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:51:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morality isn’t white and black, as Ara, Raine and Lia come to realise.  And that means that, at least right now, there are no right or wrong choices, no good or evil (or at least, that’s how Kate justifies herself, to Bree and her conscience.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning Is Not For Wimps

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this was long. And hard. I hope you enjoy (=

**_Early January 2018, Vancouver (Canada)_ **

_“_ Hey, who is this?”

_She closes her eyes, huge confused tangle of relief and regret._

_“Bree?”_

_“…_ Yeah?”

_“Hey, um, it’s Kate.”_

**_February 2018, The Netherlands_ **

Lia has to give in; has to slump down to rest her chin in the palm of her hand as her elbow sinks into the thick wool covering of the armchair.  As she exhales, exhausted, she suddenly feels the comforting warmth of Tom’s hand pressing gently at her shoulder.  Turning her head towards him, she meets his eyes.  Smiles, wearily.

He smiles back, small but comforting.  “You okay?” he whispers, barely audible over the increasing shrillness of Ara’s voice and the fiery edge of irritation of Raine’s as Lia’s friends stand on opposite sides of the living room table, shouting at each other with barely-restrained fury.

“They’re _monsters_ , you fucking idiot!” Ara screams.

Lia winces.  “Yeah,” she sighs in response to Tom’s question as Raine’s jaw clenches tight.

“Well,” Raine grinds out, “do you regularly go on hunting trips for murderers?  Because, you know, they’re actually sentient – like, human sentient – or did you miss that bit?”

The worst thing about this is that it’s not the first time they’ve had this argument.  But Ara’s got her weapons stacked on the table, the first time she’s gone hunting that Raine knows about since they found out about NATO’s plans.  And everyone’s on edge because Raine and Will have only just started talking again, tentatively, and there’s nothing much to do here except government stuff, zombie killing and being overly invested in other people’s lives.

 “Yeah,” is Ara’s reply, “difference is you can hold a gun to a murderer’s head and he’ll back down.  Why don’t you try that with a zombie and I’ll save your life when they’re trying to rip your head off.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Raine snaps.  “I’m the one with the vote in NATO, not you, so just shut _up_.”

The last word rings out like a whip crack, echoing in the suddenly-silent room.  Because there’s no reply from Ara except the grating of wood against metal, and wood against wood.  Her weapons.

Lia lifts her head in time to see Ara storm out the door.  Sighs again.

There’s been a lot of sighing since Tracey was stupid enough (or brave enough) to open her mouth and spill Will’s secret.  “I should…” Lia trails off meaningfully, leaving the rest of her sentence – _go with her and make sure she doesn’t die_ – unsaid.

But Tom rests a hand against her neck, gentle and reassuring.  “I’ll go,” he says calmly.  Lia’s protective, nervous ( _immature_ ) side wants to say _no, no, don’t go die_.

Practical her knows that it’s way better than Lia going, incapable as she is of talking Ara into anything even remotely resembling calm.  It’s one of those talents Tom has that’s all _him_ – to take a young woman bordering on the edge of psychopathy and drag out a young, hurting girl.

“Eurgh.”  The sound, halfway between miserable and exasperated, draws Lia’s gaze to Raine.  She’s sitting on the edge of the table, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lia would be sympathetic, but Raine _started_ this stupid argument, as though arguing had ever been effective against Ara.  And Raine having been in the argument, she didn’t have to endure her own voice.

(Or maybe she did.)

(Eurgh.  She’s tired.)

“It’ll be fine,” Lia tries.

Raine looks up at her, shadowed resignation in her eyes.  “I’m going to go Skype Fio,” she says wearily. 

“And Will?”

Her friend shrugs.  “Not really in the mood.”

That’s a post- _Revelation_ thing.  _Not really in the mood_ never used to apply to Will.  Ara speculated yesterday that Raine had hit disillusionment stage.

Lia hopes not.  Ever since they found out genocide was their ultimate game-plan, there’s been enough of that floating around.

 

~

 

**_February 2018, The border of the state of New York and the nation of Canada_ **

“Bree, want me to drive?”

To be honest, Bree’s barely keeping her eyes open; but Dianna hates driving, she knows, and so she forces a cheerful smile onto her face when she turns towards her friend (not _girlfriend_ , though that’s probably what they are, because _girlfriend_ just doesn’t ring right anymore.)  “I’m fine,” Bree replies with as much careless cheer as she can possibly muster.

Dianna stays silent, and so Bree genuinely startles when a hand moves to rest gently on her knee.  “What’s wrong?” Dianna asks quietly.  For once, Bree doesn’t want Dianna touching her; doesn’t want anyone touching her right now. 

But…”It’s just weird going back to New York,” she replies.  She’s fairly sure that Dianna can’t hear the _oh by the way, Kate, you remember Kate, best friend and everything that I used to live with, well she called me and she’s a zombie.  Genocide doesn’t sound like a good idea_.  _And I might be meeting up with her, and if the plan doesn’t work she’s going to rip my head off._

Not that she would say that, of course.  It took her all of January to convince the Canadians to loan her one of the cars to go back to America, and it was the middle of February before Dianna finally, reluctantly agreed to go along with it. 

She wants to tell Dianna.

But she can’t – so…

“I’m fine,” Bree adds, sparing a glance in her girlfriend’s direction.  Last week, on her brother’s birthday, Dianna asked Bree to cut off all her hair – not end-of- _Glee_ -season-2 short either.  She remembers running a comb through the soft strands, thinking with a strange sense of melancholy back to when the closest she got to Dianna’s hair was gifsets and Youtube videos.  “I’m fine,” she repeats with more certainty.  She is. 

She’s not at all feeling a little guilty for not telling Dianna, or Tracey, or any of her friends in the Netherlands what she’s doing.  Not at all.

Dianna squeezes her leg briefly, just long enough for Bree to feel the warmth of her fingers and long for more despite herself, and then takes her hand away.  The rest of the trip is silent.

 

~

 

**_February 2018, The Netherlands_ **

Tom doesn’t relax till an hour after Raine slinks out of the house, shoulders curved in obvious misery, and Ara leaves with iPod shuffle in her ears.

It takes at least that long for him to feel like the tension might have finally cleared from the room – or at least somewhat.  It’s a strange sort of cold war going on right now between all of them.  Ara and Raine are doubtlessly America and the Soviet Union (Ara all cold and military and reminiscent of the Russia of Tom’s childhood, Raine with all her protestations against genocide – _but_ , Tom thinks with somewhat snarkish annoyance, _with no real other solution_.) 

Lia, understandably, is trying to stay out of it but can’t help getting caught in the middle; both Ara and Raine approaching her when they think the other isn’t around, vying for support with no pretence of subtlety.

 _Why_ , though, is what Tom doesn’t understand – what he asks Ara whenever he brings up the subject, as non-judgementally and gently as possible.  Raine was right – she does have the vote – but, like Will’s already told Tom, determined resignation in his voice, it’s going to happen.  Tom doesn’t care about the specifics, but apparently the… _toxin_ , Will calls it…is already almost completed.

Raine doesn’t know about the toxin yet.  Tom’s already told Will he’s being an idiot, but Will’s only reaction has been to beg him not to tell anyone – not particularly hard, anyway.  Ara never presses him for information on the subject, he talks fairly little to Raine, and the Dutch are kind but not particularly sociable.

As for Lia-

“Hey, you okay?”  Arms sling around his neck, crossing over his chest as Tom feels a familiar warmth press lightly against his back.

He smiles, bringing his hands up to clasp Lia’s.  “Of course,” he assures her.  “Just enjoying the silence.”

Even without being able to see her face, Tom can tell she’s raising an eyebrow.  “Yeah, pretty sure there’s been a _lot_ of that lately.”

“It’s…not the same.”  He knows she knows what he means, even if she’s pretending not to.  Silence isn’t silence when the tension is ridiculously loud.

Lia sighs heavily, breath shifting his hair.  “Mmm,” she hums in agreement.  “I suppose.”  She doesn’t say anything else, and Tom’s fine with that. 

Eventually, though, she leans back and releases him.  He tenses but Lia walks around to kneel at the side of his chair, resting her head in his lap before he can react.  It’s a surprising show of vulnerability that she doesn’t tend towards often – with increasing regularity, now,  but still rare.

“Everything alright?” he asks her, though he’s aware that if she wanted to talk she would have.

But he feels her tense suddenly, as he lifts a hand to run his fingers lightly through her long hair.  The gesture seems to soothe her, but there’s obviously something on her mind. 

“Lia?”

“They’re going to kill them all, aren’t they?” she murmurs, so softly he can barely hear her. 

For some inexplicable reason, Tom thinks back to a phone call a couple of months ago a couple of weeks before Christmas when he and Lia were taking advantage of the fact that both Ara and Raine were out of the house.  Thinks about that girl, Alice-with-a-y Ara said later, who betrayed her side with a trembling voice filled to the brim with determination.

He doesn’t realise his hand has clenched till Lia makes a soft sound of protest.  It immediately unclenches, of course, and Tom strokes her scalp in silent apology, because…

“Yes.  They will.”

_If the zombies don’t end up killing us first._

~

 

**_February 2018, London (England)_ **

“It’s a stupid plan,” Raine says for what Will thinks must be, at the very least, the millionth time.  Personally, he thinks it’s a rather generous estimate, that.  But they’re talking again now, even had a conversation that got…’hot and heavy’…the day before last (and what a _clunky_ turn of phrase, but he’s not sure how else to put it).  So he’s more than willing to let her express her confusion and anger, naïve and self-righteous as it sometimes seems.

“No it’s not,” he tries (because Raine doesn’t understand, she didn’t have to kill her own father and as wrongly good as that felt, Will’s never ever going to redeem himself for that.)

But she’s too caught up in what he snidely thinks of as her self-righteous outrage (oh, he’s jaded now, jaded and cynical and terrified that someone will find out that he’s told Tracey, told Raine, what he promised to keep a secret) to stop from talking over the top of him.

“Yes it is,” she insists.  Will sighs helplessly, for what is most definitely the billionth time as Raine goes on to say, “nuclear bombs are _dangerous_ , for one thing-“

“Oh,” he says without thinking, “that plan’s been scrapped.  We’re going biochemica-oh _shit_ ,” because Raine has started and her eyes have narrowed, and it’s too late.

He’s not good with this secrets thing.  Seriously.  And he hasn’t even had a bloody _drop_ of alcohol, either.

“What.”

“Raine, I-“

“What is it.”

“Raine-“

“ _William_.”

In any other circumstance, he’d laugh at the use of his full first name. 

Somehow, though, laughing doesn’t really seem like the most appropriate of reactions to this – _this_ , a fuck-up possibly even worse than the one that’s left him anticipating an execution warrant for the last two months.

But right now, staring at the pale, quiet rage etched into Raine’s features, execution suddenly doesn’t seem so bad.  “Antarctica,” he tells her quietly.  “They’re developing some sort of toxin, contaminant, whatever – I don’t know the science, but-“

“ _Tell me_.”

“It’s meant to…I don’t know, attack the zombie DNA, or something?” Will tries, though the words sound stupid to him, like they’re straight out of a bad sci-fi novel written by someone with no real understanding of anything scientific.  Probably him, if he ever seriously endeavoured to write a novel.  “It’ll kill them all.  Painlessly, but instantly.”

“Right.”

There’s no point, but he tries anyway – “please, Raine.  You have to understand that it’s the only w-“

The call disconnects, and Will slumps back in his seat.

_Shit._

~

**_February 2018, New York City_ **

Dianna’s worried. 

She always is of course, now; there’s always something to worry about, something to fear for.  Her brother is dead, but every day she hopes ( _fears_ ) that maybe her parents aren’t.  Lea’s gone, but there’s still Cory and Amber and Chris and Naya – her family away from family.

But right now, she’s worrying about something a lot more specific, a lot more immediate.

Her…girlfriend (if that’s the right word).  Bree probably thinks she’s good at keeping secrets and maybe she is, but either Dianna’s always been good at reading past façades or some of _Quinn Fabray_ has rubbed off on her.

So when Bree says casually that she’s “ _going out for a walk_ ,” Dianna can practically _smell_ the lie.

And maybe she should ask.

But instead, Dianna bites her lip.  Nods her head, bends down to brush her lips lightly against Bree’s.  “Be safe,” she says quietly and means it with all her heart.

She picks up her phone and finds her E-book collection, opens _Alice in Wonderland_ for the millionth time and drowns herself in the familiar words, till she doesn’t even hear Bree’s ringtone a mere corridor away.

Doesn’t hear the sound stop and the surprised “ _oh hey, Raine, what’s up_?”

(More’s the pity.)

 

~

 

_**February 2018, the Netherlands** _

As soon as Raine lets the words come out of her mouth, she’s painfully aware she’s made a mistake.

To be honest, she’s not even really too sure of what drives her into picking up Lia’s phone (totally a community asset, and anyway she’s sort of fucking pissed at Lia right now so yeah, not really an issue) and calling Bree. 

Actually, screw that – she’s fairly sure, come to think of it.  It’s probably got something to do with the fact that she’s pretty much _not talking to Ara_ right now, really annoyed at the whole “ _must mediate_ ” thing Lia’s got going and well, Will.

Well, that’s pretty goddamn obvious.

So that’s totally what Raine blames when she opens her mouth and spills everything she’s heard from Will and Alice (who pretended ignorance for a pitiful couple of minutes before capitulating in that helpless, hopeless way that made it impossible for Raine to really be angry at her).

And if Bree’s a little strained when she answers, tells Raine that she’s glad Raine trusted her enough to tell, and that she’d love to stay but she’s got to go…

…Is it really Raine’s fault, smack-bang in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with a fraying relationship and friends she’s barely able to talk to, that she doesn’t notice?

(Perhaps it is.)

(But most likely, it’s a fault she has to blame on the fact that she is human, irrevocably and pitifully.  Flawed, human and drowning.)

 

~

 

_**February 2018, New York City** _

Kate’s already locked herself in the jail cell when Bree arrives.  There’s bulletproof glass separating them, three layers of it and bars.  But Kate’s voice still rings out clear with relief when she sees Bree, and it’s probably the best thing Bree has heard since this nightmare started.

(Either this or Dianna during sex.  Hard choices.)

“Hey Bree,” she says with a weak smile as Bree rushes forwards, pressing her hands flat against the glass.  The surface is cold against her hands but as she looks at Kate, that doesn’t matter because she remembers the warmth of her friend’s skin as if it’s been a day, not a year and a half, since they last touched.

Her laugh comes out like a sob.  “How’s being a zombie?” is all she can ask, too overwhelmed by _everything_ – by the rush of emotion and pain, bittersweet and sharp. 

“Food doesn’t taste as good,” Kate tells her lightly, smile curving wider.  “But I can actually sing Cosette properly now, so there’s that.”

Despite the strain of dry, cracking skin on the sides of Kate’s mouth, her smile is just as warm and open as it’s always been.

(And Bree chalks the edge of cold determination in her eyes up to part of the whole zombie thing.)

( _Because, after all, how could she not_?)

“What about you?” Kate asks.  “You said that some of your friends are still human, right?”

Bree smiles.  “Yeah.  What about you?  Do you know if any of your college friends are…you know…”

“Not zombie?” Kate finishes.  “Not sure, to be honest.  You’re the first one I’ve gotten in contact with – the first one any of us have, actually, those of us who don’t work with the government.”

“ _Really_?”  She doesn’t know why that surprises her – it figures, she supposes, “Must be hard to get phones, right?”

There’s a slight hesitation.  “Something like that.”  Her friend pauses, like she’s about to say something else.  She shakes her head in the end though, reaching up to fiddle with a strand of her hair (still red, but darkened and streaked through with black.)  “So um.  Any idea what’s going on with us all living together happily and whatever?”

Her heart drops – Raine’s words returning back to her, looping over and over.  _Going to kill them all.  Going to kill them all._ “I need to tell you something,” she whispers.  “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

The pause is so slight that she doesn’t notice (not that she would, after all.)  “Of course.  You know you can trust me, Bree.”

“The…Raine, a friend of mine from high school, she’s like, connected to the government in England or something.  And apparently they’ve developed some sort of poison.”  Kate flinches slightly, but doesn’t look as surprised as Bree thought she would.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Bree says.  “I am.”

Kate’s twirling the strand now with slightly scary viciousness, almost like she’s trying to just yank it out, the whole clump at once.

“I just – you can’t tell _anyone_ , okay Kate?  I’m sure they’ll sort it out, but you’ve got to promise not to tell _anyone_ -“

“Too late, Miss Lao.”

The voice is cold and unfamiliar.  And it’s not coming from behind her.  It’s coming from the same room as Kate. 

A chill runs down Bree’s spine.  Something is _wrong_ about this, she can tell – not just from the voice, but from the look of absolute misery in Kate’s expression.  “Kate, what-“

“This conversation has been recorded,” the strange voice – a man’s voice – continues with brutal satisfaction.  “Thank you for the information, Miss Lao.”

 _No_.  “You didn’t,” Bree whispers, harsh and disbelieving. 

But Kate flinches back, the guilt sharpens, and that’s it.  She did.  “I didn’t have a choice,” Kate says quietly.  “I don’t want to die, Bree.  It’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You set me up.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Kate says, one last time before a hand appears on her shoulder, fingers long and pale to draw her back and away from the glass.

Away from Bree, into the darkness of the cell.

“Enjoy the trip home,” the man’s voice floats back to her as Bree’s best friend leaves her.  “And thank you again, Miss Lao.”

It doesn't sink in till she's in the room she and Dianna have been allocated.  Till she's curled up in the bed after a shower she doesn't remember, hearing but not listening to the sound of water falling in droplets as Dianna showers.

And then Bree starts crying.

 

~ 

 

**_Epilogue - March 2018, the Netherlands_ **

Bree’s still sobbing when Ara tires of the maelstrom of emotion in the house.  Lia’s too busy trying to comfort her (with Tom’s help, of course) and Raine’s too occupied with trying to avoid the _I-told-you-so_ her own conscience must be barraging her with to notice her leaving the room quietly.

Nevertheless, she’s careful not to be seen before making her way into the tech room.  The call goes to Andrew but he takes one look at her expression and sighs.  “I take it Raine passed on the news?”

“Yeah,.  She’s in a brilliant mood.”

“I can imagine.  I’ll put you through,” he says briskly; and he does just that; the soft beeping as they wait for the call to transfer serving as quiet accompaniment to the silence.

“How’s Tracey?”

He barely flinches.  _Boring_.  “I’m sure you could contact her yourself,” is his reply, quiet and calm.

Well, that’s low.  “I suppose,” she answers neutrally.  “But, you know.  Effort.”

“I suppose.”

There’s a soft beep, and the screen splits between Will and Andrew’s faces.  “Raine – _oh_.  Um.  Ara.  Hi-”

“Biological warfare,” she interrupts.  She doesn’t care about niceties anymore, after all.  “How does it work, when is it happening, and what can I do to help?”


End file.
